


Dead Girls Don't Walk

by kiichandesu



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, I hate choosing lines to put in the summary, I hope you're into JD being tortured by his own brain because that's what you're getting, I'm actually very nervous to be posting this aHAH let's go, I'm also awful at tagging I don't know if you've noticed, In which Veronica was the one who got shot, Mental Instability, T for swearing and not much else, Time Skips, Ugh, but she still managed to save the school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 10:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10275605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiichandesu/pseuds/kiichandesu
Summary: “JD, look at me.”His name sounded foreign to his ears. Yet her voice hit him like a bucket of cold water and he did his best to not obey, he really did, but it didn’t take more than a couple of beats and he was looking her way again, meeting her gaze.She was now fully facing towards him. As soon as he looked up, she started walking in his direction. He felt the strong desire to flee.She took her time to get right in front of him; there were only a few inches between them when she finally spoke again.“Why wasn’t I enough for you?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> \- Veronica might be OOC. Mostly because she's not Veronica.  
> \- English isn't my first language. Please tell me if you see any mistakes!  
> Hope you enjoy.

The first time he saw her again, it was one week after the explosion, in a nightmare.

She was sitting by herself in a café, sipping coffee from a white cup. She had a calm demeanor, her eyes fixated on the hot drink. From time to time, she would brush some of her hair behind an ear, but she barely moved other than that.

She didn’t look lost in thought, per se, but she seemed indifferent to the world around her.

He stood outside the café, looking at her through the glass window. The sight hurt.

He called out to her, but she didn’t turn. He tried again; nothing. Soon enough he was banging on the window, calling her name so loudly that his throat started burning. He shouted, he cursed, he stooped as low as pleading her to turn around, not even once thinking about entering the café himself.

(Goddammit, did he hate dreaming.)

Eventually, she did turn. His voice died in his throat, and he took a step back.

Her eyes were wide and void, completely pitch black, and dried tears of blood marked her otherwise rosy cheeks. She glared at him with her black-hole eyes, and he felt something cold lurching in his stomach.

She mouthed something that he wasn’t able to hear, though somehow he doubted it was anything pleasant.

JD had woken up in a cold sweat, her name on his lips, and he had sighed heavily realizing that it had been years since he’d last had a nightmare that actually managed to scare him.

He would get used to it pretty soon.

The first time he saw her while he was awake he almost choked. Not on anything he was eating, not on his own spit. He almost choked on _air_ , like a fucking idiot.

“What’s with the shocked face?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning softly, calmly sitting on his bed. Without shoes on, she was dangling her feet over the edge.

The scoff that came out of his mouth after a moment of stunned silence was bitter, incredulous, and so utterly resigned that he couldn’t help feeling incredibly pathetic.

“You,” he said, and his voice came out as a croak. He took a breath and steadied himself before trying again. “You are dead.”

The girl gently hopped on the floor and blinked slowly, as if perplexed. “I am.” she replied. “That is what a bullet to the gut and wrapping yourself around a bomb will do to you, isn’t it?” she continued, wrinkling her nose. She walked, almost skipped around the bed and only stopped when she was in front of his window. She turned to him again then, and while she sat on the edge of the window she said, “Then again, I was dead the moment I decided to break into this fucking window the first time.”

He said nothing. The lump in his throat would’ve prevented him from talking even if he wanted to.

She apparently took his silence as a permission to keep going, and she did. “I was so silly back then,” she said, as if ‘back then’ wasn’t less than a couple months ago, “I was even afraid of _Heather Chandler_! Ha!” she scoffed and smacked her forehead with an open palm. “Little did I know, I didn’t need to worry about her. After all, I was lucky enough to have just gotten such a sweet boyfriend ready to protect me.”

There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice, which for some reason made JD’s stomach turn uncomfortably enough to make him want to puke his guts out.

“I still can’t believe someone like Heather would have such an unrefined death,” she continued on, tapping her cheek pensively, “With all that choking and spitting. I guess Queen Bee just couldn’t take her drain-cleaner.” She hummed and shrugged, pushing herself up from the window.

JD watched her as she made her way through his room again, stopping in front of his dresser and looking at the various things he had left scattered on it.

“What are you doing?” he asked, hiding as well as he could that his nerves were about to snap. Something told him she wasn’t fooled at all by his attempt at acting calm.

She shrugged again. “Reminiscing,” she simply said, without looking at him. She sighed contentedly. “I got over Heather pretty quickly.” she admitted after one short moment of silence. “I did hate her quite a bit. Then again, I also hated Kurt and Ram,” Her voice dropped slightly as she mentions the two jocks. The change was subtle and hard to catch, but JD heard it perfectly. A chill went down his spine. “And I was pretty upset when my lovely boyfriend shot them in the head.”

“They humiliated you.” he said, and he clenched his teeth in anger at his next words; “They wanted to _rape_ you.”

“You **_killed_** them.”

She finally turned to him and he took a step back before he could actually see her face. For a moment he was afraid he’d see void eyes and bloody cheeks again, but all that greeted him when he looked at her was an accusing scowl.

It quickly faded away to be replaced by her previous calm, almost cheerful expression.

“It’s not all your fault, though. I didn’t really do anything to stop you,” she said, turning again towards the dresser. She decided studying that piece of furniture had bored her and turned her attention towards his desk instead. “I mean, I thought it would be alright. After all, I had a boyfriend that loved me enough to get rid of annoying jerks for me. I thought for sure he would also love me enough to stop when I asked him to. And so I did.” She sighed.

JD stopped looking at her, his eyes wandering towards a corner of the room. “...You did.”

She stopped moving for a moment or two. She then sighed again, and when she looked over her shoulder, her expression was sad, distraught even, even though she was smiling.

“I just wanted to be seventeen.”

He kept silent.

“I guess that was too much to ask, wasn’t it?”

Silence.

“JD, look at me.”

His name sounded foreign to his ears. Yet her voice hit him like a bucket of cold water and he did his best to not obey, he really did, but it didn’t take more than a couple of beats and he was looking her way again, meeting her gaze.

She was now fully facing towards him. As soon as he looked up, she started walking in his direction. He felt the strong desire to flee.

She took her time to get right in front of him; there were only a few inches between them when she finally spoke again.

“Why wasn’t I enough for you?”

He wasn’t sure whether it was the question, or the teary look she had in her eyes, or the way her brows were furrowed in pain, or all three of those things, but he felt the wind getting knocked out of him.

_What the actual fuck?_

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t realize he was holding his breath before he let it go to talk. “Not enough? You were _everything_ for me!”

“No, I wasn’t,” she insisted, her voice shaking. She scowled at him again. “You’re always lying to me. The right drink? ‘Ich luge’ bullets? Being teenagers together?” She gradually raised her tone as she rambled. “That was all that I wanted. That was all that I needed!” _We were meant to be one_ , he thought, but he didn’t say. “But you just couldn’t give it to me, could you. A normal life. Or a life at all, for that matter!”

Her eyes were wide, shaky, desperate, and he turned as to not look at her. She reached out and cupped his face with a hand, and he barely even felt the touch. _She isn’t here_ , he had to remind himself, but that was so hard to believe when she forcibly turned his head so that their eyes would meet again.

“What does it feel like?” she spat, her scowl deepening and the beginning of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The sight hurt. “What does it feel like to kill the one person who actually loved you?”

He smiled grimly. “Love me?” he asked acidly, “I seriously doubt it.” He took a shaky breath. “You chose _them_ over me!” he growled, wincing in pain at the bare thought. He spit the word ‘them’ as if it was poison in his mouth and he watched carefully as her expression melted into a sort of sadness.

“I did.” she agreed without a moment of hesitation.

“Even though you hated them.”

“Yeah,” she agreed again. Her hand moved gently and caressed his cheek softly. Again, he barely even felt it. “But, Jason... You chose your hatred for them over your love for me, too.”

He finally realized he was crying.

“They deserved to die.” he said morosely, “The world would’ve been a better place without them!”

Her sad frown turned into a sad smile. “But they’re still alive. Why is that?” she asked, and he found the strength in himself to glare at her.

“You took the bomb away.” _You fucking curled around it to shield them. You died for them. You got yourself killed for them. Because you like to play fucking martyr, I ended up killing y—_

“That was more than a week ago,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. “It didn’t even take you a whole night to build that bomb,” she reasoned, “Nobody has found the thermals in the gym yet, and you still have that mass suicide note with you, don’t you? If you wanted to kill them, you could’ve in these past days. Why haven’t you?” His silence was more stunned that he would’ve wanted to admit. That was a good question. Why hadn’t he? “I mean, there’s no cute little princess Veronica there to stop you anymore, is there?” Ah.

He stepped away from her ethereal touch. He looked at her for a second or two, then turned away. Fuck. Fuck, he was crying like an idiot. He could feel the cold tears on his face. They stung when they reached his lips.

He dared not acknowledge them or move to dry them.

“Is that actually it?” she asked, and her voice sounded more like a knife than... well, her voice. Was she sad? Was she mad? He couldn’t tell anymore. “What, are you honoring my death by respecting my last wish? Is that what you’re doing? After fucking shooting me in the gut and living me to rot in the boiler room?” Yeah, she was mad.

He kept not looking at her, but shook his head in response. “No.”

He didn’t try to justify the shooting part of her accusation as an accident. Using that gun had been his first intent when he had broken into her room the day of the pep rally, to begin with.

“It’s not, is it.” she parroted, incredulous. “Then _what_ is it? What, is the world not worth cleansing now that I’m not in it anymore?”

He remembered disliking it when there was no sarcasm in her voice. He quickly realized maybe it would’ve been better if it had stayed that way.

“Or do you think that if you stop murdering people, God will forgive you and let you into Heaven once it’s your turn to fucking die? Is _that_ it? Are you crazy enough to think you might meet me again someday?”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t understand you. What’s the point of mourning a girl _you_ killed?”

 “Shut up, Veronica!” he yelled, finally looking back up at her.

“ _I’m **not** Veronica!_ ” she yelled back, stomping her feet and taking a step forward. He felt something snapping inside of his head. He looked into her eyes and didn’t see Veronica’s. He saw his own. “Veronica is _dead_ ,” she growled, every part of her glowing with pure rage, pure hatred. “She is dead and it’s your fault.” She wasn’t her. She wasn’t the girl that loved him. That girl was gone. “So I’m going to ask you again, JD,” she spat, “What did it feel like to kill the one person that actually loved you?!”

He growled just as loudly. “I don’t know!”

And he didn’t. He clenched his fist, grit his teeth, fighting the urge to punch something. He didn’t know what it’d felt like to kill the person who loved him.

Killing the one person he loved, though? That... made him want to kill himself, too.

He didn’t have a dead girl walking to love anymore.

“Let me give you a life lesson, Jason Dean,” said the girl in front of him, whoever she was, whatever part of him she came from, “It doesn’t matter how much you want them to. _Dead girls don’t walk._ ” One beat. “And if meeting her in Heaven is really what you want,” she said, “I hope you’re ready to go through Hell, first.” She stepped even closer, so much so that their noses were touching. “Live. Live the fucking life you promised her you would. Without _her_.”

He exhaled and looked at the empty room in front of him.

He was alone.

Without her.

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me in so many ways... I'm not sure if I like it.   
> But hey, maybe you do. That would be great. Well, g'night.


End file.
